Rowan is cleaning out his desk, preparing for the imminent end of first grade. Every day he comes home with a small forest’s worth of paper: arithmetic sheets, construction paper frogs, illustrated journals, family trees (“I have 2 moms and 1 dad and 1 brother and 0 sisters…”), self-portraits and cutouts of his own hands. Etc.

All of it automatically induces a kind of pathos in me: He’s growing up, moving on, the end of Grade 1 … He just started and now it’s over already… boo hoo hoo and so on.

“How does it make you feel, knowing that the year is almost done?” I asked him, expecting him to say something bittersweet. He’s loved Grade 1: his teacher, the kids in his class, every single new fact and word and skill and rule.

“Great!”

“Great?” It’s difficult to conceal the surprise my voice.

“Yeah, because now I’ll know what to do at the end of Grade 2.”

You know, sometimes, some moments, I really don’t like his attitude. But some days? I love his attitude.